Manifesta

 

Drying plastic sheets for Nuno-Felting.

I'm super off track with the blogging. I am in deep self-care mode at the moment. I suspect I will live to procrastinate many more things, the painting, the writing, the endless crafty endeavors. Work is the answer. More work, more making, more sketching, more seeing, more doing, less thinking, less talking, less weighing, more breathing. I got invited to join a group of artists meeting to discuss art and the process of making art and the reality of being an artist. Initially I felt that it was what I wanted. I even thought the invitation had come to me in a sort of divine way. I went to one Salon style gathering and there were many very interesting people there but I felt ill at ease. I feel suspicious at the very idea of the thing. Is this normal? Is it just me? It takes a lot for me to get out into a group of people and I generally reserve the energy it takes to do this for clients and family gatherings but off I went. I even shared my work, I read a piece from this blog as an experiment. People were supportive but I felt hollow afterwards as I tend to. I am suspicious of this need to seek attention for things I have made. I connect it to bowel movements from childhood. My mother would applaud my stinky efforts. It mattered and it felt good to me and to her, both our jobs done. I don't want to talk about making art much in the same way I don't want to talk about my sex life or my bowel movements in public. Yes, I have sex and I really enjoy it, I spend quite a bit of time thinking about sex, I dream about it, I miss traffic signals thinking about it. I don't want to talk about it though. It's private. People do not want to listen to me talking about my sex life. I think making art is the same thing. I want to do it, not talk about doing it with people who have their own methods and manias, fetishes even, sexual and artistic. I enjoy the intimacy of art making and I believe the creative process is a solitary one and I am okay with that. I am superstitious. Whatever creative gift I have been given (as I write this I am stunned that I even thought that, a gift from who/where) I need to protect and explore for myself alone. I can't speak about something that has no form, wrong words could dissolve the gossamer waves of whatever it is that might ooze out of me given half a chance. So I will continue to plan and make and if you run into me, let's not discuss art or sex or shit or blood. All those things are implied. Let's agree to discuss the discussable, the dog, the swans returning from Russia, the new buds swelling in the unusually warm weather and how grateful we all are to still be at this beautiful party.

Returning

I am back to walking despite the bitter cold. The question of purpose comes up not just for me but for others in my milieu. The young are confused and misinterpret their daily acts as trite and unimportant. I often think if only X would happen then I could do Y, Z. Well here's a news flash. X is happening! I picked up trash today on my way home. I picked up a big plastic cup, a plastic sheath from one of the salmon reparation saplings that flew off in the wind, and an empty bottle of vodka before I found a discarded grocery bag to put it all in. I filled it up pretty quickly. I have been meaning to do this for a long time but haven't. The trash annoys me. Beer cans, coffee cups, fast food bags that like magnets pull the dog off course. So today I did it. It felt good, and it gave me a totally different perspective on my walk. I may never write a great novel and there may be no purpose to any of it but I will be able to walk down my road without hating humanity and that's something.

P.S. Someone on my road drinks a ton of 100 Proof Vodka in plastic mickey bottles. I hope it isn't a kid.

Sundays

On Sunday it was frosty and clear once the sun came up over Sumas Mountain. It felt good to be outside and I took pictures of the frost. I am planning a garden, such as it is covered in black plastic and spare tires. I helped at the Urban Farm on Saturday and came away feeling good about everything. We will have a kick-ass raspberry crop again this year and I have plans to throw in a 20ft row here at home too. We made a rough list of things to grow in the garden, things we think we can handle. Beans, peas, cabbage, kale, the basics. Meanwhile I felt nervous about Monday's surgical event but what can you do, time moves us along and now it's 4 days later. The rain started up again and I wouldn't have walked even if I could have. Tomorrow I will try again.

Bare

I am rowing along my feet are my oars

row, step, row, step, breathe, breathe, breathe.

Merrily, merrily.

I saw seven eagles flying, trill, trill, calling.

Two white capped adults and five mottled juveniles

above the creek. I called to them,

my head tipped back compressing my delicate vertebrae

exposing my white lumped neck.

Hello eagle brothers what a fine day it is.

I bet you can smell the rotting salmon all the way up

in those cottonwood trees. They trill, trill,

call back to me soaring overhead. Showing off

feeling good because of this sudden sun that has

pulled us all out today and made us joyful

when we should be afraid.

As someone who has considered cutting things short
stopping midstream so to speak but fearing the end
incredulous that it all must end in happier times.
I feel lighter now, knowing how it might end
a lump begins somewhere and there you go.
An answer to the question.
An end to the unknowing
but miraculously
step after step, row, step, breathe, step
with my eagle brothers alive above me
and my salmon sisters dead on the creek banks
getting ready to smell as soon as the air bloody well
warms up, and it will. Hope rows along side me.

I am linked to them, the eagles and the bare trees
my flesh exposed, no more or less important.
I am in the flow and that is the point.
And I will row hard like my salmon sisters swam hard
follow my purpose which for now is the simple
act of breathing, stepping, striding, rowing.
Moving when it is time to move,
waiting when it is time to wait.
Sunning myself when the sun
calls me out into the world
along the creek beneath the trees.
My soft neck bared and open
so that the eagles might pull free
and devour what is
unwelcome in this once perfect body.
Trill, trill, call. Step, step. row. Breathe.

One Month

I have not written in a month. Not because I had nothing to say but because I was not willing to go into those deep woods. Instead I have spent the month quietly inhabiting two states. One private, one public. My public self enjoyed the holidays. I ate, I drank, I traveled about dropping off cookies and cheer, spending time with family and friends, it was lovely. My private self came too and sat quietly waiting for my public self to get tired and go home. Some days for hours I forgot completely about my private state and was amazed by how positive and hopeful I felt. Other times my private self scrambled, clawed to the forefront of everything presenting formless ideas that eluded words. I am changed. I turned 50 in December and it was an emotional day. I missed my mother to the point that I could barely speak about her. Like a wounded child I long for her steady hand. In reality she was not that steady, she faltered and I see those fissures in myself. My private self keeps a little album of these creases in our combined flesh. I am not her but at times I fear that I am. We are so fragile. While I was thinking about these two selves as they slid back and forth on top of each other making me feel whole and fractured simultaneously I came to the following conclusion based on evidence and information. I am going to be okay regardless of what happens to me. I have today and I feel fine. As long as I feel fine I will continue to move ahead. My face in the mirror smiles back at me and I think, look at her she looks fine.

Values vs Memories

I'm slipping into another place
it's serene in here, no sound, maybe birds
I have no memories, I have no goals
is it death? that is the conclusion I jump to first
I have died and death is the ultimate calm state
but I am not dead because I am drinking coffee
and my husband and daughter are down the hall
the absence of worry, concerns me
but most memories I am willing to lose
those things happened
and now they are lost
I'm startled by the odd flash
of what does drift past
Los Angeles midday
my hand raised touches his face
a social perfunctory kiss
I have always felt uncomfortable
kissing for no good reason

Words

I seek the space where words converge
I keep waiting, thinking it will happen
the woods will open into wide pastureland
flat and navigable, an easy space to lay it all out.
It hasn't happened yet, I am waiting.
I have not entered the woods.
I remain on the periphery. 
Walking and thinking, the road before me
a dashed line on which to build,
the blank spaces where thought drops out
a grid of ideas
built with letters giving way to words
revealing phrases, a melody even
the grid does not extend into the woods
the road is long and the same
a rhythm played each day but without words
no song, the beat of foot falls on dashed line
nothing comes of it but I go out again
hoping words will meet me, pull me in
without suffocating me on the way to the vast openness
I believe exists just beyond the safety of the road

Falling Up

So much to report. The changing leaves are sublime, we've been enjoying mysterious fog. I finally got rid of my car. It feels really good to be able to drive around again freely, at night without that fear that I am going to get pulled over for having headlights out or for polluting my town with cloud of blue smoke that had begun following me around. The Passat served me well over the past 12 years and it was beyond fixing. Finding a new vehicle was a challenge. We looked at Explorers and Suburbans, vehicles that could tow our little trailer. The Fords were cheap and plasticky, the Suburbans were smelly and I could feel myself slipping into a sadness that was alarming. I had been driving a fairly nice, higher end vehicle and I was learning the hard way that the status of said vehicle mattered to me, a lot. We were cheaping out, looking at cars that were under $2k. I got my cash together and we got onto looking at smaller Chevys, V-8s, newer models. I want something that was born in the 2000s, the Passat was a '95. I needed to get out of the nineties. We finally hit on a 2001 white Blazer, 4dr, 4WD. It suits me, it has good pick-up, the body is bigger than the Passat but not gigantic like the Suburban, it fits in the carport and handles pretty well in tight spaces. It sucks gas but nothing is perfect, I ration my driving. I drive more slowly. It's a huge relief to have this mundane task taken care of. I knew the drive to Smithers would be the last for the old Passat. I took it to the recyclers and they paid me $260 to crush it. My ownership of that car can only be described as the classic abusive relationship. The car looked good and I felt great in it, but it beat the shit out of me, time and time again. On the drive to the recyclers I kept thinking how good it felt to drive it again, how nice the leather seats felt, how well it handled, low on the road, quiet on newer tires. I put all the bad stuff out of my mind and enjoyed it one last time.

It's been two months since I forced the kid onto the X-Country team at school. The first few weeks were brutal. Teary pick-ups and dirty looks. My gut feeling that it would be good for her has payed off. She loves the team interaction, and the running practice has visible benefits. She still complains a bit about their training but this week she shaved 4 minutes off her time for the 5K and man she looked great doing it. She surprised herself I think and was pleased with how it felt to do well. She's healthier and happier and the experience of going to all these mid-week and weekend meets has been good for me too. I have reconnected with many moms I knew years ago when Pearl was small. One woman in particular, was instrumental during the time I was choosing an adoption agency to work with. She was also looking for an agency she could work with and eventually adopted just after Pearl was born. Her daughter is also running XC for a school in town. I feel a great sense of renewal reconnecting with people and also seeing my daughter blossom along with her peers and make new connections through physical activity.

And me. How am I? Well the weather has been perfect and I have been busy enjoying it. I have been helping in the garden, taking out the tomatoes and cutting down the spent raspberry canes. I am deeply grateful for everything and mindful of my self care as we slide into darkness. It rained a lot early in September and I just wasn't ready to fold up and go inside. Miraculously the rain stopped and October has been dry. We have been given a reprieve, more time given to strengthen and steady ourselves before the deep grayness of winter sets in. We have no control over how our reactions to dark will be from year to year. There are so many variable but for now I am just plain grateful for good weather that allows me to be active outdoors and to have so many good friends on whom to lean if I do start to falter. It rained in the night but the sun is back today so out we'll go and continue to beat back the wilderness.

I'm rapidly approaching my 50th birthday and while I am sure I will experience some more feelings about it, for right now I feel okay. The last few years were rough and I still have the occasional moment when things feel sketchy at best. I know it will pass and in the moment it's a good idea to get out and move around, put yourself in nature. Connect to something greater than your measly-self. Feel your body's sensations, good and bad, move around. When I start to feel that separation of what I know to be happening and that which is imagined, it is best to get up and go outdoors. I find that engaging my body in physical activity I can move through the worst of the rising confusion and despair. Set your hands to labor, knit, wash the dishes, dance, scream if you have to. It will pass. The more I am mindful of the effects of my readjusting hormones, the less scary their manifestations become. We are all unique, the point is to see what works best for you. (Sorry how this is written. I had had a discussion with a friend who had hit a few rough patches and was seeking a pharmaceutical answer. I was encouraging exercise, rest, and kindness.)

Monday again and time to get back to work. Halloween this week which I will thankfully miss. I hate dressing-up, isn't it enough that I get myself dressed and put together and presented to the world everyday? I have enough trouble with my own ego let alone an alter one. Above is a snippit of a piece I am working on, must get to the finishing. Off we go!